Page 23 of The Game Changer (Knights of Passion #3)

Chapter

Fifteen

C ody stuck close through everything—training room, hospital, all of it.

Like a scrappy, loyal mutt who didn’t know when to leave.

By the time they were done poking, prodding, shining lights in his eyes, and scanning his brain for scrambled bits, the sun had crested over the horizon.

Morning already. Dylan blinked against the fluorescent glare of the emergency room and rubbed at his temple, wishing the pounding behind his eyes would let up long enough for him to think.

“Hey, all set?” Cody’s voice came from his left, casual but softer than usual. The kid looked wiped. Dark smudges under his eyes, his hair a wreck, like he hadn’t slept—because, apparently, he hadn’t.

Dylan squinted at him. “Were you here all night?”

Cody shrugged, trying for nonchalance. “You’re my catcher.” A beat passed, and then a crooked smile. “Besides, how were you gonna get home?”

“I don’t know… Uber?” Dylan muttered, already regretting the suggestion.

Cody snorted. “Yeah, and puke in the back of a Corolla? Come on. My car’s out front. I’ll bring it around.”

Before Dylan could protest, Cody jogged off toward the lot.

He dropped onto the bench outside the hospital entrance, slumping back against the hard wooden slats.

The sharp jolt of pain when his skull touched the wood nearly made him curse out loud.

God, his head hurt. He let his eyes fall shut for a moment and tried to block out the swirl of fatigue and nausea.

He didn’t want to get in a car with Cody—the kid drove like he was still in high school, all speed and bass—but at this point, Dylan would ride home in a goddamn grocery cart if it meant he could lie down soon.

The familiar purr of a finely tuned engine brought his eyes open. A fire-engine red Corvette rolled up to the curb, obnoxious and flashy, but surprisingly quiet this time. No pounding music. No revving engine. Just a low hum and silence. Interesting.

Dylan didn’t wait for Cody to come around and open the door—hell no.

He forced himself to stand, one painful joint at a time, and lowered himself into the passenger seat.

His whole body protested the movement, and he let his head fall back against the cool leather headrest with a grunt. His eyes slid shut.

He barely registered the motion of the car. Just the low glide of movement beneath him, like floating on something too fast. Somewhere in the haze of his drifting thoughts, he felt the car stop, heard the door click open, and Cody shaking him awake.

“Hey, man. We’re here.”

Dylan blinked and looked up at his own house—his porch, his front door—and then saw her.

Savannah.

She burst from the house like a shot, worry etched deep into her features, her bare feet skimming across the lawn. She looked like she hadn’t slept either—hair in a messy ponytail, oversized T-shirt hanging off one shoulder—but she was radiant. Real. Present. And it nearly brought him to his knees.

Sadie tore out of the house after her, barking excitedly, but Cody got to the dog first, wrapping an arm around her mid-jump.

“Whoa there, girl. Easy.”

Sadie whined, twisting in Cody’s grip, her tail a blur of nervous joy. Dylan extended a hand to steady her, petting her head gently. He tried to crouch down, but the pain in his skull surged and his vision blurred.

“Shit,” he muttered, swaying on his feet.

“Let’s head inside, buddy,” Cody said gently, moving in to support him. “You need to lie down.”

Dylan nodded, unable to protest. His legs felt like rubber bands, wobbly and too long. Between Cody’s firm grip and Savannah’s warm hand guiding him from the other side, he made it inside, collapsing onto the couch like a rag doll with all the stuffing knocked out.

Sadie was on him immediately, curling up beside him like she could protect him from the world. Her wet nose nudged at his ribs, and her soft whines vibrated against his chest. He scratched her head absently, letting the familiar sensation ground him. She always knew when he was hurt.

Voices murmured from the hallway—Savannah and Cody speaking low, too low. It grated.

“I can hear you,” Dylan said, his voice sandpaper rough. “Get out of here. I’ve got this.”

Savannah didn’t miss a beat. “Sure you do. Stand up and take Sadie outside, then.”

He cracked one eye open and gave her a glare that lacked its usual fire. “She doesn’t need to go.”

“You need someone to stay with you,” Cody added. “They said to wake you up every few hours. You’ve got at least twenty-four hours of supervision coming your way.”

“I’ll stay with him,” Savannah said, final and firm.

Her tone brooked no argument, and none came.

Sadie was gently coaxed off the couch. Cody helped Dylan stretch out fully, lifting his legs and removing his shoes.

Savannah settled a pillow under his head, her touch featherlight, and then pulled a blanket over him with practiced ease.

The moment her fingers brushed his temple, smoothing his hair, he nearly sighed aloud.

God, he wanted to lean into her and stay there forever.

“I’ll get you some ice,” she whispered, her fingers ghosting over the bruised side of his head.

He closed his eyes and grunted softly in acknowledgment.

From somewhere near the door, Cody shuffled his feet. “Guess I’ll get out of here. See you in a few days.”

Dylan cracked one eye open again and looked at him. “Thanks, Cody. I appreciate it.”

The younger man paused, looking uncomfortable. “No problem. I owed you.”

Dylan tried to respond, but the fog was back, thick and heavy. “We’ll talk later,” he muttered, already fading.

The door closed softly behind Cody.

And then… stillness.

True, blessed stillness.

He sank into the couch, muscles uncoiling one at a time, the tension bleeding out of him like air from a balloon. The pain in his head still pounded, insistent and relentless, but it felt far away now—muted by the dim light, the soft blanket, the dog curled up beside him, and Savannah.

Her presence anchored him in a way nothing else had.

He drifted, not into unconsciousness, but something gentler. Softer. A slow fall into rest.

Wrapped in quiet, in warmth, in her.

S avannah stood frozen in the doorway of the living room, the forgotten ice pack slowly numbing her fingers.

Her gaze locked on the man sprawled across the couch, body still too rigid for sleep, his jaw locked as if bracing against a pain that hadn’t yet passed.

Every muscle in him was tense, coiled as if he was waiting for another hit.

A raw breath hitched in her chest as she tried to draw air into lungs clenched tight with anxiety.

The same cold band had wrapped around her ribs the moment she’d seen that collision on TV last night—the brutal impact, the way Dylan crumpled to the dirt like a broken marionette.

She’d clutched Sadie so tightly the poor dog yelped, but instead of fleeing, Sadie had scrambled into her lap, burrowing into her chest, a warm, steady weight against her panic.

If Cody hadn’t called from the hospital, she would’ve gone mad with worry. She owed that kid. Big time.

She moved across the room quietly, afraid any sudden movement might jostle Dylan’s fragile peace.

Gently, she eased the ice pack onto the growing bump on his temple.

He grumbled in protest, shifting slightly, and she winced as a small moan escaped him.

She crouched beside him, letting her fingers thread through the silky strands of his hair—slightly longer than his usual precise cut.

It was soft and thick and unexpectedly indulgent, a little secret he’d never admit to pampering.

She stroked the side of his face, slow and tender, letting her touch ease the tension from his brow, the stress from his jaw.

Gradually, she felt him soften beneath her palm, breath deepening, the lines of pain melting into something close to rest.

Her throat tightened. He was relaxing. Letting go.

“Keep an eye on him, girl,” she murmured to Sadie, brushing the dog’s head. “He needs you right now.”

Sadie licked her hand in quiet agreement and tucked herself even closer to Dylan’s side, a steadfast little sentinel.

Savannah turned and padded into the kitchen, blinking hard against the sting behind her eyes.

Her heart squeezed, heavy and aching. Somewhere between frantic calls to the ER and feeding his dog last night, Dylan had become essential to her.

Not just important—vital. She couldn’t imagine losing him.

Not now. Not after he’d woven himself so seamlessly into her days with his gruff humor, unwavering loyalty, and the way he made her feel like she mattered.

The shrill ring of his phone shattered the quiet. She jumped and darted into the living room, snatching it off the side table before it could wake him. Glancing at the screen, her heart stuttered. Lindsey .

Oh God.

She stepped back into the kitchen and answered tentatively. “Hello?”

“Dylan? Are you okay?” A young woman’s voice burst through the speaker, sharp with panic, then turned cautious, suspicious. “You’re not Dylan.”

“He’s sleeping,” Savannah said softly. “I didn’t want to wake him. Who is this?”

“I’m his sister, Lindsey. Who are you?”

“I’m Savannah Monroe. I help your brother with his dog.”

There was a beat of silence, then a shriek that made Savannah wince. “He kept her! Oh my God, I’m so glad! He needs something besides baseball in his life. Wait—why are you answering his phone?”

“He’s resting. I didn’t want it to wake him. I probably should’ve let it go to voicemail.”

“No, no. Definitely answer it. Especially if it’s Mom or Dad.

He really doesn’t need either of them right now.

Dad will yell about how he should’ve ‘protected himself better’ and Mom will talk about flying out, but she won’t.

Trust me, Dylan will flip if either of them shows up. Please—run interference.”

Savannah blinked, startled by the directness. The voice was youthful, but beneath it was steel—hardened experience wrapped in Hollywood polish. Not just a pampered TV star. Lindsey was a woman who’d learned to protect the people she loved in a family full of minefields.

Savannah grinned. “Yeah, I’ll stay with him until he’s better.”

“Good.” The sigh that followed felt like a weight being lifted.

“Okay, rundown time. Dylan’s like a cranky bear when he’s hurt.

No patience. Zero grace. I don’t think he’s ever had someone take care of him for real.

Not since we were kids. Don’t let him push you away.

He will try. Just ignore him and keep doing what you know he needs. He’ll thank you—eventually.”

Savannah chuckled despite the lump in her throat. “Why are you giving me this advice? What if I’m just a gold digger looking for a payday?”

Lindsey laughed. “Bimbos don’t cuddle sick dogs and answer family phones. You’re legit. Keep me posted—but use your phone. He’ll get weird if he thinks I’m checking up on him. And if Mom or Dad call, do not let them through. I’ll try to intercept.”

They exchanged numbers. Savannah hung up, phone still warm in her hand, when a movement in the doorway made her spin.

Dylan stood there, swaying slightly, pale and wobbly but upright. Her heart leapt into her throat.

“Who was that?” he asked, his voice roughened by pain and sleep.

She held out the phone. “Lindsey. I didn’t want to wake you. Sorry.”

He stared at the device as if it might bite him. “I don’t think I could handle her right now. Just… ignore it. You got any aspirin?”

She grabbed the discharge instructions. “No aspirin. Acetaminophen. I think I’ve got some in my purse.” She glanced up. “What do you want to eat?”

His face went a shade paler. “Nothing. Just something for the headache.”

She handed over two pills and a glass of water. He swallowed them fast and gave her a look—closed off, stoic, that familiar I-don’t-need-anyone expression she was growing to hate.

“You can head out now. I’ve got this.”

Savannah crossed her arms. “So you’ve said. Multiple times. But I think I’ll hang around. Sadie needs food. And someone has to make sure you don’t fall over while making toast.”

“I’ll get you money—” He patted at empty pockets and cursed. “Damn. Everything’s at the stadium.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you really think I want your money? Go lie down. Now.”

To her surprise, he obeyed without further argument, shoulders slumped as she guided him back to the couch. She pulled the blanket up again and eased his legs onto the cushions.

“Will you kiss it and make it better?” he mumbled, lips twitching.

“You need a haircut,” she said, brushing his bangs aside, then leaned down and kissed the side of his bruised temple. “All better?”

He tilted his head to look at her, mischief shining through the pain. “Getting there. But I think I need a proper kiss to truly feel better.”

Savannah grinned, brushing his cheek with her fingers. “You can’t handle a proper kiss right now.”

“Rain check?”

His voice was so boyish, so hopeful, it made her chest ache.

She nodded. “Rain check. But only if you’re a good patient.”

He burrowed deeper into the couch with the blanket drawn up to his chin. “You’ve been talking to Lindsey, haven’t you?”

She arched an eyebrow. “I might have.”

“Don’t believe her. I’m very easy to care for.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

He closed his eyes, his whole body beginning to relax. She couldn’t help herself—her hand kept drifting to him: brushing his arm, checking his pulse, smoothing the fabric of the blanket. Just to be sure he was still there. Still breathing. Still okay.

One eye popped open again.

“Will you wear a nurse outfit? Short white skirt. Low-cut top. Might speed up recovery.”

Savannah burst into laughter, loud and genuine. God, she needed that laugh. “Get some rest.”

“That wasn’t a no.”

She kissed the top of his head again. “It wasn’t a no,” she whispered.

And honestly? She didn’t know what scared her more—the idea of falling for this man, or how hard she already had.